


The Marriage of the Kingslayer

by RivanWarrioress



Series: The Young Cub [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Pre-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-02-29 23:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18788317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RivanWarrioress/pseuds/RivanWarrioress
Summary: “As reward for your services to the country in Killing the Mad King, Aerys Targeryen, I relieve you of your duties to the Kingsguard, so you can be free to find yourself a bride, and have little golden haired brats of your own.  It’ll get your damned father off my back, he’s been wanting you relieved of your vows since the war ended.  In fact, I’ll arrange a match for you.  Any girl in the country that’s not stark raving mad will fall over herself to get a chance at being Lady of Casterly Rock."Jaime blinked, having not seen the King’s words coming, and dread began to form in his gut.“Thank-you, your grace,” he replied automatically, without thinking.“Ah, you thank me now…just wait till your married…you won’t thank me then.  Women are an unreasonable lot once you’ve wedded and bedded them.”“Who were you thinking of?” Jaime instead asked neutrally.In reply, Robert laughed his great booming laugh again, draining his goblet, “You’ll find out, Kingslayer…I’m going to have some fun with this.”----Robert, in the aftermath of Joffrey's birth, releases Jaime from the Kingsguard and decides to arrange a marriage for the Kingslayer.





	1. Jaime I

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. All recognizable characters, places, events, ect, are property of George R.R. Marin and HBO

JAIME I

“Ah, Kingslayer,” Robert Baratheon slurred drunkenly as he half sat, half fell, onto the bench beside Ser Jaime Lannister, sworn knight of the Kingsguard.

“Your Grace,” Jaime greeted politely, ignoring the use of the jibe. Oh how he hated the name Kingslayer. While it was true that Jaime had slayed the Mad King, the one he had taken oaths to protect, he hated having it flung in his face at every turn. Didn’t the people realize what he’d saved them from by killing Aerys?

“Nothing compares to this…nothing.” Robert chuckled contentedly, taking a swig from his goblet. Around them the celebrations for the birth of the new Prince were in full swing. Jaime’s younger brother Tyrion had long since disappeared, probably off to somewhere private with a whore or two, and Cersei had lingered only long enough for the formalities, before she’d retreated to her rooms, and her newborn son.

Jaime smiled thinly, but said nothing. Robert was too drunk to notice if Jaime’s smile was a little forced.

“The feeling of having your own son in your arms…of being able to celebrate the birth of your heir with your court...” Robert shook his head, passing his gaze over the assembled lords and ladies, all of them seeming relaxed and in the mood for a party.

Jaime knew full well that the new prince wasn’t Robert’s baby at all, but his own, with Cersei. Jaime had already held little Joffrey in his arms, marveling at how strong the baby was, but yet at how small he was. Surely, Joffrey was much larger than Tyrion had been at birth, but still Jaime hadn’t been prepared for how small Joffrey had been as he’d been passed to Cersei’s arms, wrapped in blankets, his skin still bloodied by birth. 

“I’ve heard it’s a remarkable thing,” Jaime commented lightly with a shrug, “holding one’s child for the first time.”

“It isn’t right, that you Kingsguards are made to live like Septons... it’s not like it’s the bloody Nights Watch, it’s not supposed to be a punishment” Robert grumbled, clasping Jaime on the shoulder.

“We manage,” Jaime replied shortly. 

Robert let out a great booming laugh, “I bet the lot of you keep half of the brothels in Kings Landing busy.”

Jaime physically had to bite his tongue to prevent the automatic reply of ‘well, you manage to keep the other half of them in business,’ from slipping past his lips. Robert, however, didn’t notice…or care.

“Here, how about this…as reward for your services to the country in Killing the Mad King, Aerys Targeryen, I relieve you of your duties to the Kingsguard, so you can be free to find yourself a bride, and have little golden haired brats of your own. It’ll get your damned father off my back, he’s been wanting you relieved of your vows since the war ended. In fact, I’ll arrange a match for you. Any girl in the country that’s not stark raving mad will fall over herself to get a chance at being Lady of Casterly Rock."

Jaime blinked, having not seen the King’s words coming, and dread began to form in his gut.

“Thank-you, your Grace,” he replied automatically, without thinking.

“Ah, you thank me now…just wait till you're married…you won’t thank me then. Women are an unreasonable lot once you’ve wedded and bedded them.”

Jaime shifted in his seat, trying not to think about the fact that Robert was talking about Cersei. 

“Who were you thinking of?” Jaime instead asked neutrally, passing his gaze over the throng of people in the room.

In reply, Robert laughed his great booming laugh again, draining his goblet, “You’ll find out, Kingslayer…I’m going to have some fun with this.”


	2. Robert I

Draining his goblet, Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, banged it down heavily on his sturdy wooden desk for his cup bearer to refill.  He peered at the book in front of him, ‘ _The History of the Greater and the Lesser Houses.’_

“Seven Hells this is hard work,” Robert cursed as he turned the page over, casting his eyes over the writing before him. 

 

“You sent for me, Your Grace?” Jon Arryn asked as he walked through the open door.  Robert slumped a little in his seat, waving away his cup bearer.

 

“Jon…thank the Gods you’re here.  I need your assistance in something.”

 

“Your Grace?” Jon Arryn nodded, the badge of the Hand of the King gleaming on his chest, “With what do you require my assistance.

 

“I need to arrange a marriage, and I have no idea who the bride should be.”

 

Jon Arryn’s brow furrowed, “I wouldn’t tell the Queen that you are already arranging a betrothal for young Prince Joffrey.  She would not take it lightly.”

 

“What…Joffrey?” Robert laughed, “No, even I wouldn’t do that to her, wait for the lad to grow up a bit more, get a few more babes out of her before we start marrying them off.”

 

“Who, then, is the intended groom?”

 

“Jaime Lannister.  Old Lord Tywin is still furious with me about not releasing the Kingslayer from his duties after the war, and I had no intention of ever doing it, but the man is driving me insane with his smug looks.  He needs a wife to focus on, and him being married gives him a reason to be back at the lion’s den they call Casterley Rock…one less of those damn Lannisters I have to deal with.”

 

 “Ah,” Jon Arryn nodded, “Who did you have in mind?”

 

“I was going to kill two birds with one stone,” Robert sighed, “Marry him to a Northern Girl, and force a bit of friendship between the Starks and the Lannisters.” Robert snorted, chuckling to himself, “As if that is ever going to happen,” he added.

 

“A Northern girl…it might work.”

 

“I know that there was once talks of Jaime Lannister marrying Lysa Tully, your wife, before the war,” Robert pointed out, and Jon nodded in agreement.

 

“I believe neither of them were enthusiastic about the match.”

 

“Your Lady Lysa is about as far from a Northern lady as possible,” Robert observed, “Ned doesn’t have any suitable relatives, so it will have to be one of the Stark’s bannermen…and I never paid enough attention to who they were during the war.”

 

Robert looked down at the page open before him, “Well, let’s think about the Stark’s bannermen.  There is the Karstarks and the Umbers, the Boltons, the Flints, the Hornwoods, the Mormonts, the Cerwyns, The Reeds, the Manderlys, the Glovers and the Tallharts.  There hasn’t been a girl born into the Bolton family since the reign of King Aegon the Fifth, and all of the Glover, Umber, Manderly, Cerwyn and Karstark girls are married already, or far too young to marry Ser Jaime and bare his child.  Lord Jorah Mormont’s eldest cousin, Dacey, is of marriageable age, although I’ve never met the girl myself.  The Reeds tend to keep to themselves, and Ned’s young friend Howland never spoke much about his family.  I doubt a Reed girl would ever be comfortable as the Lady of Casterely Rock.  The Hornwoods, Tallharts and Flints I am not so sure on.”

 

“No,” Robert shook his head, “The Mormont Girl…a bear for the young Lion.  The Mormonts are a big enough house that Tywin Lannister won’t be insulted, and Ned told me stories when we were young about Mormont women…said that they fuck bears.  Lions are the same.  They’re all claws and teeth.”

 

“Your Grace…” Jon began to speak, but Robert held up his hand to silence him.

 

“No, that will do nicely…a Lion and a Bear.  Make the arrangements, Lord Arryn…I’m sure Lord Tywin will be most appreciative.


	3. Jaime II

Jaime sighed as the bedchamber door was finally shut, the sounds of drunk wedding guests fading down the hall as the bedding ceremony was considered complete, and the partygoers went to consume more wine and find bed partners of their own.

      

Looking across the room, he took in the sight of his new bride…Dacey Mormont, or rather, as she was now, Lady Dacey Lannister.  She was tall, maybe a little over an inch shorter than himself, with the dark hair and grey eyes that seemed commonplace in the north.  She’s worn a green gown during their wedding, with the red Lannister cloak Jaime had draped around her shoulders over the top, her hair shorter in style than was the fashion for women in the south, but now she was bare and exposed to his eyes.  Jaime could see her toned muscles, born from years of training with weapons, and the scars that dotted her body, evidence of Dacey’s experience in combat. 

 

It was the first time Jaime had been alone with her, although they had met before their wedding day, albeit only a few days before they were due to wed. On those few occasions they had been together little had been said by either of them.  Jaime was unsure of the reasoning behind Dacey’s silence, but he had attributed his own wordlessness to nerves, and not knowing if they shared anything in common.  Now, here they were, expected to consummate their marriage, and they were still practically strangers.

 

Perhaps the most worrying part, for Jaime was how, during the bedding ceremony, they’d been stripped of weapons, instead of their clothes.  Jaime hadn’t been alarmed when Tyrion had taken his sword away, he’d known it was going to happen.  The alarming part had been the numerous knives that Dacey had been carrying, hidden, throughout the entire wedding.  It was no secret that the North hated him and his family almost as much as they hated the Targaryens, and most of them would think nothing of ramming a knife through his heart because of his lack of honour  

 

“I…I hope you haven’t got any more of those knives stashed away in here,” Jaime tentatively commented, “Otherwise this might prove to be a very short lived marriage.”

 

Dacey looked towards him, her face impassive, “Let me get one thing straight, Ser Jaime,” Dacey spat out his name as if it tasted bad in her tongue, “I will not be a meek and submissive wife.  On Bear Island we women are trained to fight.  I’ve fended off countless Ironborn raiders, I fought in Robert’s Rebellion, and I saw more battles and killed more men than you did during the entire conflict.  How hard was it for you to stab one mad old man in the back anyway, Kingslayer?  I refuse to adhere to this petty custom that women should sit at home and knit or embroider while the men go out and fight.”

 

Jaime blinked and nodded, reminded of Cersei by Dacey’s firey determination and strength, although he knew from watching his sister during Dacey’s introduction to the Royal family that Cersei already loathed her new sister by law.

 

“So, I am to expect that, if we go to war, you would be riding at my side?” Jaime asked.

 

“Yes,” Dacey nodded, “and I will continue to keep my practice up until that time.  I will not allow myself to become weak just because I live behind tall walls in a pretty castle in the south.”

 

“I will inform the Master at Arms at Casterley Rock of your intentions,” Jaime instead replied, still somewhat in shock about the whole thing, although now the surprise was wearing off he knew he should have expected this.  Upon learning who exactly he was betrothed to Jaime had sought Tyrion’s help in learning as much as he could about Bear Island and it’s residents.  It was obvious that the threat of Ironborn raiders and Wildling attacks meant that all persons needed to learn how to protect themselves, regardless of gender.  All of the men spent their days at sea, trying to find enough food to feed the isolated Island, sso of course the women learned how to protect their homes, children, and themselves.

 

“You look lovely tonight, and you are a skilled dancer” Jaime offered as silence seemed to stretch out for a few minutes.  Dacey blinked, in a way that seemed genuinely surprised.

 

“The few southern men I have encountered have not found me beautiful,” Dacey offered, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, “they found me plain and boring and too large for their taste.”

 

“Well, I would say they were foolish men.  You are Lady Dacey Lannister now, and few will ever look down at you ever again.”

 

“Your sister will be one of them,” Dacey smirked.  Jaime hesitated, knowing that Dacey was right.  Cersei would never forgive Dacey, Tywin, or Robert for Jaime being married, and then being sent back to Casterley Rock.  She had screamed and raged when she had found out about Jaime’s betrothal, livid beyond compare.  While Dacey had nothing to do with the planning or arrangement of the betrothal, she was the one who would be sharing Jaime’s bed, not Cersei, and that, Jaime knew, would be enough for Cersei to hate Dacey.

 

“Cersei may come around.  She…finds the responsibility of her position stressful at times.”

 

“I cannot imagine being married to King Robert being an easy thing,” Dacey quietly observed.  Jaime nodded in agreement. 

 

Jaime turned his back and tugged slightly the clothing that was laid out for him to wear the next day, before he turned back towards Dacey, about to ask her about her interests other than fighting.  The words, however, died in his throat.  Dacey had undone the bindings of her dress, and had let the garment drop, pooling at her feet, like a pile of fresh cut grass.  She stood before him, bare to his eyes, and Jaime found himself looking over her hungrily.

 

“Come, Kingslayer…let us find out if Bears and Lions really do fuck the same way.”


	4. Jaime III

JAIME III

 

Jaime found himself gazing out at the sea, the sun glinting off the surface of the water, the waves crashing against the base of the cliffs below Casterley Rock.  His father had ordered him to go and find something to do, and Jaime had found himself drawn to this place.

 

The courtyard overlooked the sea, but yet was secluded and private.  Jaime had brought Dacey to the courtyard the day after they arrived at Casterley Rock, and in the time that had passed since then it had become a place where they spent time alone together, sparring with various weaponry, having a private picnic together, or simply just gazing out at the ocean, talking about their lives.

 

It had been in this courtyard where Jaime had told Dacey the truth about the death of King Aerys…how Jaime had been acting to prevent the deaths of everyone in King’s Landing.  Jaime had debated with himself whether or not he should tell her the truth about what had happened that day.  He’d never told anyone before, not even Tyrion.  It had been strange to finally reveal the truth about what had happened on that horrific day to someone.  Dacey had been silent as she’d listened, uncharacteristically still as Jaime had told her the truth.

 

“But why?” She’d asked afterwards, “Why didn’t you tell someone?  Why didn’t you tell Lord Stark, or King Robert?”

 

“Because Ned Stark already didn’t like me because of my last name, and because it was still too dishonorable for him to fathom.  A Kingsguard, killing the king he was sworn to protect, despite the fact that it saved the lives of everyone in Kings landing?  Ned Stark would never have understood, and I shouldn’t have to justify my choices to him.”

 

“What about your father?”

 

“While I’m sure he would be grateful, he wouldn’t care.  My name might be stained, my honour as a knight tarnished, but the family…the Lannister name…his legacy, it’s all he cares about.  Our children, and Cersei’s, and Tyrion’s, if he ever has any, they could do whatever they wanted, be the worst people in the Seven Kingdoms, and father wouldn’t care as long as they continued on the Lannister bloodline.”       

 

Dacey had noticeably softened towards him after that particular discussion, although Jaime was surprised how…well…he and Dacey had gotten on, after a few fights early on in their marriage.  They’d bonded over their shared love of fighting, with conversations taking place as they sparred with one another allowing them to become better acquainted.  Jaime was one of the best fighters in the Seven Kingdoms, but Dacey challenged him in more ways than he could count…and it was fascinating to watch.  Jaime had wondered, on more than one occasion, what would happen if Cersei had ever been allowed to learn how to wield a blade like Dacey had.  He was sure that she would be just as skilled at it as he and Dacey were, if not even more so.  Cersei had always been obsessed about being the best, about being seen as superior to everyone else.

 

But Cersei was miles away, in the Red Keep at Kings’s Landing, with Robert and little Joffrey, and Jiame was back at Casterly Rock…and he found that he was relishing the freedom Casterly Rock gave him.  Of course, Jaime had duties, as the son and Heir of the Warden of the West, but it was…easier, than life in King’s Landing had been.  He was able to be himself more.  He didn’t have to worry about what Cersei and Robert were doing, and there were far fewer people who gave him dark looks and whispered Kingslayer beneath their breaths when he walked by here in Lord Tywin Lannister’s keep. 

 

Dacey, for her part, had slowly adapted to life in such a large keep, and to her role in managing it.  She’d struggled at first, having never even seen a keep as large as Casterly Rock before (with the exception of the Red Keep at King’s Landing), let alone considered running such a establishment, but Jaime’s Aunt, Lady Genna Frey, had been on hand to help her new Niece with her duties as Future lady of the Rock, as well as making sure that Dacey, as well as Jaime, had time they could spend alone together, when they could spar, or tal, or just get to know one another, as they hadn’t had the chance before the wedding.  Most of that time was spent in what had become known as their courtyard. 

 

It was also in their courtyard that Dacey had told Jaime that she was pregnant, as they were gazing out at the sea and the sun sank beneath the horizon.  Dacey had grown up watching the sea from Bear Island, and Jaime himself from Casterely Rock, and later at King’s Landing, so they spent a lot of their time watching the waves crash against the rocks far below.  It was familiar to both of them, a reminder of their pasts, when things were simpler…more innocent.

 

Now, though, Jaime was fixated on the future.  He imagined his child learning to walk in this courtyard, toddling uncertainly from Jaime to Dacey, and then back again.  He imagined Dacey, her dark hair blowing in the wind, standing and looking out over the water, their baby at her hip, as she told them stories about Bear Island.  He imagined himself and Dacey teaching their child how to wield a sword in this courtyard.  He smiled as he imagined the scene, one of them gently sparring with the child with wooden training swords, while the other offered instructions or advice, or stepped in to correct positioning or footwork. 

 

“Jaime?”

 

Jaime blinked out of his thoughts and tore his gaze away from the ocean, turning towards Tyrion, taking in the sight of his brother.

 

“What is it?  Has it happened?”

 

“No, not that we’ve been told.” Tyrion admitted, approaching Jaime’s side, “Father sent me out here to keep you company.”

 

“I had company, before he had me thrown out,” Jaime grumbled bitterly.

 

It was true, Jaime had been steadfast throughout Dacey’s pregnancy that he would be there, at Dacey’s side, when the baby was born, just like he had for Cersei when Joffrey was born, a year and a half earlier.  Tywin, however, hadn’t approved of Jaime’s plan, and had ordered some of his men, Gregor Clegane among them, to physically remove Jaime from the bedroom where Dacey was laboring with Jaime’s child.

 

“There are other ways.  I arranged for father’s men to partake in some drinks celebrating the birth of your child, so I imagine they would be incapable of removing you now.  Besides, no-one ever pays attention to the servant’s staircases.”

 

Jaime smiled at his little brother, “You are not someone I would like to have as an enemy,” he commented.  Tyrion waved his hand, dismissing Jaime’s words.

 

“It’s a good thing we’re brothers then,” Tyrion shrugged, Jaime clasped his hand on Tyrion’s shoulder, before he strode out of the courtyard, making for the nearest entrance to the castle.

 

Buoyed by Tyrion’s words, Jaime slipped into the keep via a servant’s door, and began to work his way towards the bedchamber he and Dacey shared, unseen by anyone but a few servants, who looked surprised by his presence, but were too busy preparing for the arrival of Jaime’s child, and the celebrations that would follow, to do much more than stare and bow, or curtsey.

 

It didn’t take long for Jaime to reach the door to his chambers, unnoticed by Tywin and his men.  He took a steadying breath as he gripped the door handle, before he pushed the heavy wooden door open and let himself into the room.

 

Jaime immediately sought out Dacey, finding her laying on the bed, her dark hair loosely bound back, her face pale, although her cheeks were flushed red from her exertions.

 

Maester Creylen, the advisor to Tywin Lannister, and chief healer of the Castle, simply lifted his eyebrows at Jaime from where stood at the foot of the bed, but said nothing.  Jaime had known the Maester for his whole life.  It had been the Maester who had guided Jaime into the world, the infant Jaime having been holding onto his twin sister’s ankle.  It had been the Maester who had seen Jaime through his childhood, teaching Jaime his letters, or at least trying to, and getting him through the illnesses and injuries that came with childhood.   

 

“Dacey,” Jaime greeted his wife, approaching the bedside and sitting on the edge of the bed, his fingers clasping onto hers.  Dacey smiled at him briefly before her face fell and she let out a long moan of pain.

 

“How is she going?’ Jaime asked the Maester, using his free hand to gently comb through Dacey’s sweat soaked hair, and unable to keep the fear out of his voice.  Jaime had expected his child to have been born by now.  It had been just before lunch the previous day when Dacey had begun to feel the pains of labor, and now the hour had chimed twenty seven times since then.  Cersei had only needed ten hours to deliver Joffrey.

 

“The baby was still positioned quite high in the womb when labor commenced,” the master replied, “It is one reason why the baby is taking so long to arrive.  Lady Dacey, however, is strong, like the bear that graces her house’s shield.  It won’t be too much longer.”

 

Jaime sighed and pressed a kiss to the top of Dacey’s head and she leant against him, her maids bustling around them, reassuring her and pressing damp cloths to her head to cool her.  Jaime stayed where he was, unwilling to leave his wife’s side.

 

No-one had been expecting the baby to arrive so soon.  Lady Maege Mormont had planned to travel south so she could be present for the birth of her first grandchild, but she hadn’t even left Bear Island yet.  By Jaime and Dacey’s reckoning the baby should not have come for at least another month, and the Maester had agreed with their predicted timing.  Jaime knew that they might all have been wrong, and he and Dacey had been consistently intimate with one another in the months leading up to the baby’s conception, so Jaime did not doubt that the baby was his.  He, however, remembered his brother’s birth, how long it had taken, how weak his mother had become as the hours had passed.  He remembered watching bloodied towels being carried from the room, having been forbidden from being in the room with his mother.  Cersei, however had been allowed, and she’d told him all about it later.

 

Jaime remembered the last time he saw his mother, as she lay dying.  She cupped the side of his face and whispered for him to be brave, to look after his brother and sister, to pay attention to his lessons and to be a good person.  She’d died shortly afterwards, and the man that Jaime had known as his father had died with her, leaving a shell of a man that never fully recovered.  Jaime didn’t want to end up like that, he didn’t want to lose Dacey and be permanently transformed by his grief, for, although they had not known each other for nearly as long as Jaime’s mother and Father had, Jaime did love Dacey.

 

Dacey’s cry of pain brought Jaime back to the present, and he found that Dacey was clutching his hand in a grip so tight it was actually painful.

 

“Jaime…stay with me?” Dacey panted, her eyes shining with tears she refused to let fall.

 

“Always,” Jaime replied.        


	5. Jaime IV

It was the silence, broken only by the hushed whispers of the maids and Maester Creylen, that told Jaime that something was wrong.  Dacey was slumped back on her pillows, panting for breath beside him, and Jaime could feel her heart beat racing in her wrist.

 

The first thought he’d had was that the baby was a dwarf, like Tyrion, and Maester Creylen didn’t know how to tell Jaime and Dacey, but then Jaime remembered how much noise Joffrey had made when he’d been born, and, going back further, how much noise Tyrion had made when he’d cried as an infant.  Dacey, it seemed, had experienced the same though.

 

“What…what’s wrong.  Why isn’t the baby crying?”

 

“It’s alright, don’t worry yet,” one of the maids soothed, wiping Dacey’s forehead.  Jaime tore his gaze away from Dacey, instead looking towards the foot of the bed.  His view was obstructed by blankets, but he could see the master bent over, busily working on…something between Dacey’s legs.

 

“Maester?’ Jaime began to ask, before the silence was broken by a weak cry, followed by a couple of tiny, weak coughs.

 

“There we go,” the master smiled, straightening his back a little and giving a Jaime a tired smile as the baby continued to cry, the cries becoming stronger as they continued, with the small coughs becoming less frequent, until they stopped altogether, while the cries continued strongly and loudly.

 

“Congratulations, Ser Jaime, Lady Dacey, on the birth of your daughter,” the Maester told them as one of the maids wrapped the baby in a deep red blanket, embroidered with golden lions, and placed the bundle on Dacey’s chest.  Jaime and Dacey both moved their hands to help cradle the baby against Dacey’s chest, gazing in wonder at the baby.  Jaime felt a couple of tears roll down his face as he beheld his daughter, and he wiped them away with his free hand.

 

“She’s beautiful,” Jaime choked out, his voice thick with emotion.  It was true, of that Jaime had no doubt.  Despite her skin still being red from birth, and her face scrunched up as she cried, protesting her arrival into a harsh world, Jaime knew that she would grow to be as beautiful and strong as her mother.  Already Jaime could tell that the baby had inherited her mother’s dark hair instead of the Lannister blonde, but he didn’t care.  The colour of her hair didn’t matter after all.  She was his and Dacey’s, and that was all he cared about.  He could be a father to her in a way that he could never be to Joffrey.

 

“She is,” Dacey agreed tiredly, gazing in adoration down at the baby, “I never thought I could feel like this about someone else, especially after only just meeting them.  She’s so small.”

 

Jaime smiled as the baby moved within the blankets, kicking her legs free of the warm red cloth, “She’s not like Tyrion though, she’ll grow.”

 

“You’re quite right there, Ser Jaime,” the master agreed, wiping Dacey’s blood from his hands, “she’s smaller than most newborns, but I think that might be due to her being early, not due to her being a dwarf.”

 

Dacey blinked as Jaime gently tucked the blanket back around the baby’s feet, and the baby’s cries eased as she relaxed against her mother’s chest.

 

“I…I know you wanted it to be a boy,” she began. 

 

Jaime shook his head, “No…no…I was fine with a boy or a girl,” he corrected her, “I mean, yes, a boy or two would be nice, especially now I am my father’s heir again, but a girl is good too.  Remember, my father’s firstborn was a girl, and Cersei is probably his favorite.”

 

Dacey let out a soft laugh, looking back down at their baby girl, who had stopped crying since being placed on her mother’s chest, and was instead snuggling against the warmth of Dacey’s body.  As if on cue, though, the baby stirred, her eyes opening as she looked up at Jaime and Dacey sleepily.

 

“Hello little one,” Jaime greeted, “our little cub, a bear and a lion.”

 

“Our little cub,” Dacey nodded in agreement, “She will be strong and fierce in battle, just like lions and bears.”

 

“And her mother,” Jaime agreed, “they’ll sing songs about the great warrioress of House Lannister, whose mother was a bear, and her father was a lion, and who was beautiful and a skilled fighter, and whose enemies quaked before in fear.  What are we going to name her, do you think?”

 

Jaime and Dacey had discussed what name to give their child numerous times throughout Dacey’s pregnancy, but they’d never completely settled on what name to use.  Dacey looked at their daughter, and stroked her finger along the baby’s cheek, smiling as the baby turned her head towards it instinctively.

 

“Lyra...Lyra Lannister.” Dacey whispered after a pause.

 

Jaime grinned and nodded in agreement, “Lyra…it suits her.  It’s a good name for her.”

 

Dacey smiled, “You should go and tell your Lord father about his new grandchild.”

 

“Are you alright?” Jaime asked. 

 

“I’ll be fine,” Dacey nodded, “just tired.”

 

Jaime shot a quick glance towards Maester Creylen, who nodded in encouragement, before he rose to his feet and made his way out of the room.

 

He walked towards his father’s study, knowing that would be where his father was waiting for news.  He knocked upon the door, and upon hearing his father’s voice calling for him to enter, he pushed the door open.  Tyrion was already there, a goblet of wine in his hand as he relaxed in a chair.  Lord Tywin Lannister sat behind his desk, an untouched goblet of wine beside his hand, a thick tome in front of him.

 

“Ah, Jaime…how is your wife?”

 

“Resting comfortably,” Jaime replied, stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind himself.

 

“And the baby?  Do I have a new Grandchild?”

 

“Yes, Dacey gave birth to a baby girl.”

 

“Is she healthy?”

 

“Maester Creylen said she was a little smaller than most newborns, but that it was because she was born earlier than expected,” Jaime replied, although he knew that, within the next few hours the Maester would be making his own full report to Lord Tywin.

 

“Good, a healthy girl means that next time it might be a healthy boy.” Tywin nodded. 

 

Tyrion, however was beaming, “Congratulations to you both, I very much look forward to meeting my new niece.  Yell me, does she look much like Joffrey?”

 

“Smaller than Joffrey, and she has Dacey’s hair,” Jaime replied, sitting beside Tyrion and allowing his brother to pour him a goblet of wine.

 

“Good, Dacey’s hair suits her, it will suit her daughter too.” Tyrion nodded, “I propose a toast, to the newest member of the Lannister family, may she live a long, peaceful, and prosperous life, and be the first of many children for my brother and his wife.”

 

Jaime lifted his goblet to the toast, and even Tywin picked up his glass, before all three men drank deeply to the health of the new Lannister baby.

 

“Have you and Dacey discussed names?” Tywin asked.

 

“Yes,” Jaime nodded, “We’ve decided to name her Lyra.”

 

“Lyra Lannister, a fair name.  I had thought that you might have named her for your mother.”

 

“Maybe our next girl,” Placated Jaime, “or maybe Tyrion or Cersei could use it for their daughters, should they have any.”

 

Tywin nodded, and held up a small scroll that had been on his desk, “This just came from Bear Island.  Lady Maege Mormont is departing Bear Island now to visit her daughter and grandchild.”

 

“She was going to leave Bear Island next week and sail south so she would be here in time for the birth.  Dacey wanted her mother here when it happened,” Jaime reminded his father, although he knew that Tywin already knew about the plan.

 

“Yes,” Tywin nodded, “Still, it will be good for Lady Dacey to see her mother at this time, the first few months of motherhood are among the hardest, or so my sister informed me.  You better go back to your wife, Jaime, and enjoy these first few moments you have as a family.”

 

“Of course,” Jaime bowed to his father, before he left the study, heading back towards the chambers he and Dacey shared.

 

He was almost there when he heard the bells begin ringing across Casterly Rock, announcing the arrival of the newest member of the Lannister family, and Jaime found himself smiling, happier than he had been in longer than he cared to admit.  Things seemed to be going perfectly for his family.


	6. Tywin I

Gazing down at the cradle that contained the sleeping baby, his newest grandchild, Tywin Lannister allowed his lips to quirk upwards just a hint, before he slid his stoic, expressionless face back into place.  He had been desperately hoping that Jaime and Dacey’s child would be a boy, one who could, one day, continue on the Lannister name, but as he gazed down at the sleeping baby, he couldn’t help but like the idea of Jaime’s eldest child being a girl.

 

Already Tywin was considering who his new granddaughter might marry once she was old enough.  With Dacey’s northern blood Robb Stark was an obvious choice, although Ned Stark was unlikely to consent to the match, due to his hatred of Jaime.  Renly Baratheon was another possibility.  Although older than Robb Stark, he was still considerably younger than Robert and Stannis, and as yet he had not been engaged to anyone.  There was also a new prospective heir to Highgarden, young Loras Tyrell.  He was the second of the children born to the Lord of Highgarden, and his wife, but his elder brother Willas had been killed in a tragic stable accident mere months ago.

 

Before Dacey had even given birth Walder Frey had sent Tywin a Raven suggesting that one of his children or grandchildren might marry Lyra when the time came, just like Genna had married Walder’s second son.  Tywin had privately resolved to never marry Lyra, or any of his other descendants, to a Frey, but he had sent a reply back to Lord Walder Frey that implied that he would think about it.  Walder Frey was too powerful an ally, even in times of peace, to risk insulting.

 

Of course, there were those among Tywin’s own banner men who would suggest a marriage between one of their sons, and Tywin’s Granddaughter.  Even within the Lannister family there were options, distant cousins that lived both in Casterly Rock, and in Lannisport that would give anything to see their sons married to the granddaughter of the great Lord Tywin Lannister.  Tywin wasn’t about to commit himself to any of those offers yet anyway.  The baby was too important a piece to throw away to just anybody, especially as, for the time being, she was Jaime’s heir. 

 

When Jaime had told him what he and Dacey had named the baby, Tywin had been inwardly disappointed that his son had not named his eldest daughter after Jaime’s mother, but now, looking at the baby, Tywin understood.  The baby didn’t look like her grandmother, especially with her dark hair, and Tywin wasn’t sure that the baby would act much like her grandmother anyway, although of course it was too early to judge on that regard.  It was difficult to imagine, however, any child of Dacey Mormont and Jaime Lannister being as calm, patient, and peaceful as Tywin’s wife had been.

 

Looking at the baby as she slept, Tywin couldn’t help but think that the baby’s name suited her, despite it being a more Northern name.  Lady Lyra of house Lannister of Casterly Rock did seem to roll off the tongue quite nicely, as lengthy as the title was for one so small.  Perhaps even better fitting was the affectionate moniker that Jaime and Dacey, as well as the small folk of Castely Rock, had gifted the baby.  The young Cub.  It was not a new title, if had been carried by babies of house Lannister for generations, but it seemed to particularly suit Lyra, a fact that Tywin attributed to the Mormont house having a bear as it’s sigil.

 

Physically, being known as the young Cub also seemed to suit Lyra. Her hair was dark, not quite as dark as her mother’s but still nothing like Jaime’s blonde hair.  It was a northern trait, but Lyra didn’t look completely northern.  Tywin could already see some of Jaime’s features echoed in his daughter, the shape of her face, and the curve of her cheekbones, although her small nose was very similar to her mother’s, and Tywin was beginning to suspect that Lyra would inherit the Lannister green eyes.  She was going to be a mix of both of both houses, so a name that reflected both was highly suitable for his granddaughter.

 

As Tywin watched the baby stirred, shifting in her wrappings and blinking up at him.  Tywin held the babies gaze sternly, and in reply she simply made a few quiet noises and began to try and wriggle free of her blankets, succeeding with one of her arms.  Tywin watched as she flailed her arm in the air energetically.  He did not allow himself to smile, although there was something amusing about the baby’s actions.  Instead Tywin spoke.

 

“Joffrey may well be the one who is destined to be King, but you…you and your siblings…you shall be my legacy.  The legacy of house Lannister.”


	7. Tyrion I

“She is a pretty little thing,” Tyrion smiled lovingly at the baby he cradled in his stunted arms, “a great beauty in the making, like her mother and Aunt.”

 

“Tyrion, you’re making me blush,” Dacey laughed from where she sat, reclined in a lounge beside the window, looking to have mostly recovered from the birth of her daughter, a week and a half earlier.

 

“And I thought I was supposed to be the charming one,” Jaime complained from where he stood in the doorway.  Tyrion laughed at Jaime’s pout as his brother entered the room, pressing a kiss to his wife’s forehead, and clasping Tyrion’s shoulder, before he gently gathered Lyra up in his arms.  Tyrion couldn’t help but notice how well fatherhood suited Jaime. 

 

“How fairs our young Lady, Dacey?” Jaime asked, glancing towards his wife, although he quickly looked back down at his daughter, cradled in his arms.

 

Tyrion knew what Jaime was really asking his wife.  Being a member of Jaime’s immediate family had made him privy to Maester Creylen’s words, although rumors were starting to leak out, about how the Kingslayer’s child wasn’t doing well, that she wasn’t growing like she should.  The rumors were all true.  Lyra wasn’t feeding well at her mother’s breast, and a wet nurse hadn’t worked out either.  It meant that Lyra wasn’t gaining weight like she should be, especially when she was so small to begin with.  Maester Creylen had admitted that it was a challenge presented to many babies who were born earlier than expected, that they didn’t seem to suckle as easily as their full term counterparts.

 

If nothing changed then Tyrion knew that Lyra wouldn’t last very long, her life ending before it had really had a chance to begin.  It remained unclear what would actually kill the baby…a fever probably, or she might just slip away in her sleep, or how long she had until it happened.  Tyrion wasn’t a religious man, Tywin Lannister had never seen the point in teaching his children to respect and honor the Gods, but Tyrion had prayed to the Mother for the baby to live, for the baby to start to suckle greedily at her mother’s breast, like the puppies in the kennel, or like a newborn colt.

 

If Lyra died, Tyrion knew that Jaime and Dacey would be devastated.  It was obvious how much they both loved their daughter…everyone who had met Lyra had fallen in love with her.  Even Tyrion’s father, the famously stoic Lord Tywin, had visibly softened as he’d cradled his newborn granddaughter in his arms.

 

Tyrion found himself thinking about how much parenthood suited his brother and good sister as he watched Jaime sit beside Dacey, both of them oblivious to his presence, instead still gazing down at their daughter.  It had been a long time since Tyrion had seen Jaime so content and happy, and Tyrion couldn’t be more pleased for them. 

 

“I’ll just leave you three alone,” Tyrion smiled, rising to his feet and letting himself out of the room.  There was a part of him, deep down, that envied Jaime for his kind, strong and brave wife and their child, despite Lyra’s health issues.  It was a reminder that Tyrion was alone in the world, and that, especially with Jaime married and producing children, Tywin was unlikely to ever arrange a marriage for Tyrion.  And which house would accept Tyrion as a suitor for one of their daughters?  None that Tyrion could think of, that was for sure.


	8. Jaime V

It was mid-afternoon when one of the squires in the group hunting in the hills surrounding Casterely Rock spotted the five horsemen approaching at great pace.  They all wore Lannister armor, so Jaime wasn’t greatly worried about his safety as he rode forward to greet the riders. 

 

Ser Damion Lannister was at the head of the group, and Jaime greeted his cousin with a smile.

 

“Ser Damion, what brings you out here?”

 

“Ser…Ser Jaime…you need to go back to the Rock…now.”

 

The smile on Jaime’s face fell faster than a rock dropped from the balcony he and Dacey had claimed as their own.

 

“Is it Lyra?’ he asked, feeling ice tricking down his back at the thought of something happening to his daughter.  She’d seemed stronger, the last few days had seen her drinking more milk from Dacey, and Maester Creylen had been happy with how she was going.  He’d kissed his daughter goodbye that morning, planning on being back at the Rock well before the sun sunk below the horizon.  He’d only gone out for a hunt, having not left the castle walls since Lyra was born.  Lord Tywin had all but forced him out today.

 

“No, Ser Jaime,” Ser Damion, replied quickly, shaking his head, “the Little Cub is doing as well as she has been these past few days.  No, it is Lady Dacey who has fallen ill.”

 

Jaime felt his heart drop in his chest, and his lungs felt like they couldn’t fill with oxygen.  Dacey?  Dacey was sick?  No, it had to be a mistake, she’d been fine since the birth, with no signs of any complications.  This had to be somebody’s sick idea of a joke.

 

“What happened?” One of Jaime’s companions asked, although Jaime wasn’t paying attention to who it was exactly that said it.

 

“Maester Creylen noted that Lady Dacey was showing signs of a fever when he examined her after breakfast this morning, and since then her condition has rapidly deteriorated.  Lord Tywin and the Maester sent us to fetch you,” Ser Damion replied

 

“I’m going back to the rock, immediately,” Jaime told the rest of the group, “Finish the hunt if you want, but I will not rejoin you.” With that he dug his heels into his horse’s sides and began to gallop back towards Casterley Rock, the pounding of hooves behind him telling him that at least some of the other men were following him.  Jaime didn’t really care though, his mind fixed on the castle, looming before him.

 

GOT

 

The ride back to Casterely rock was a blur for Jaime.   It felt as if one moment Ser Damion was telling him Dacey had fallen ill, the next he was striding through the doorway to their bedchamber, his eyes canning the room looking for his wife.   She was laying on their bed, propped up with pillows, and Jaime was reminded of the day that Lyra had been born.  Dacey, however, looked weaker than she had the day Lyra was born.

 

“Ser Jaime, I’m glad that you’ve returned so promptly,” Maester Creylen greeted as Jaime stepped over the threshold and into the room, hurrying to Dacey’s bedside.  Dacey turned her face towards him, her skin pale, save for the fever red patches on her cheeks.  Her eyes were closed, and Jaime guessed that she was sleeping.  Even from the side of the bed he could feel the head radiating from his wife.

 

“What happened?”

 

“After Dacey broke her fast I examined her to see how she was recovering after the birth, and I noticed that she had a slight fever.  I gave her some medicine to help reduce the fever, but it has had no effect, and her condition has quickly deteriorated.”

 

“What can you do to save her?”

 

The Maester shook his head sadly, “I am afraid there is little more I can do for her, Ser Jaime.  She’s strong, she may be able to overcome this on her own.  I have tried everything, but nothing has worked.”

 

Jaime closed his eyes, fighting back the tears at the mere thought of losing Dacey, “It’s been over a week since Lyla was born, I thought was Dacey was past any danger of complications.”

 

“Childbirth is a dangerous thing I’m afraid, Ser Jaime,” Maester Creylen offered sadly, “I will continue to do what I can for her, of course, but it is mostly up to her now.”

 

“Where’s Lyra?” Jaime asked, his voice heavy.

 

“I had her taken to the nursery at the first sign of Lady Dacey becoming ill, the wet nurse is with her, as is your brother.  She has shown no sign of illness, in fact she seemed a little stronger today, and Lady Dacey told me that when she fed Lyra this morning before breakfast Lyra fed very well.”

 

Jaime nodded, lifting his hand and resting it on the top of Dacey’s head, while with his other hand he held onto her own.  Dacey stirred on the bed and her eyes fluttered open, although they were glazed and it took her a few moments for her to focus on Jaime.

 

“Jaime,” she whispered faintly

 

“I’m here,” Jaime offered reassuringly, “how are you?”

 

“Tired…so tired,” Dacey replied, frowning.  Jaime knew that Dacey hated inactivity, and had been counting down the days until she would be strong enough to begin practicing sword fighting with him again.  The last few months of her pregnancy had driven her mad.

 

“You’ll be alright, just rest, I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning,” Jaime was sure he hadn’t been very convincing, especially when Dacey managed to find the energy to roll her eyes at him.

 

“I was sure that Tywin Lannister’s son would be a lot better at lying than that.”

 

Jaime chuckled to himself, although all amusement left his features when Dacey began to cough, curling around herself as she hacked and sputtered for breath.  One of Dacey’s maids pressed a clean piece of white cloth over Dacey’s mouth, and as Dacey’s breathing eased Jaime was alarmed to see that the cloth had blood on it.  The maid carefully wiped away the few drops of blood clinging to Dacey’s lips, before she retreated, depositing the bloodied material in a bucket on the floor at the foot of the bed, and Jaime realized that there was more bloodied material in there. 

 

Years of experience told Jaime that coughing up blood was never a good thing, and often was a sign that death was fast approaching.  It was then that he realized that Dacey was dying, leaving him alone in the world, much like his mother had left his father after Tyrion’s birth.  All of his years at his father’s side, learning to be a lord, and then being a Squire, had taught Jaime to control and conceal his emotions, but Jaime couldn’t help the tears that rolled down his cheeks as he wrapped his arm around Dacey’s shoulders, supporting her as she leaned wearily against him.

 

“I…I hated you, when we first met,” Dacey confessed once she’d regained her breath, “it was only after…after you told me about the day Aerys died that I realized what sort of man you were.  Our marriage was arranged by the king, but in time, I could have come to love you, Jaime Lannister.”

 

“I…I know,” Jaime nodded, “I…I felt much the same about you, you know.”

 

There was a part of Jaime that already loved Dacey, but Jaime left that unsaid.  It didn’t need to be said, it would involve revealing too much of himself, and he just couldn’t bring himself to do it, even as he held Dacey in his arms.

 

Time lost all meaning.  Jaime wasn’t sure how long he sat beside Dacey on the bed they had once shared, supporting her, his arms wrapped around her, rubbing her back when she coughed and wheezed.  It could have been an hour, or it could have been six, Jaime would have no idea.

 

“Jaime…promise me…promise me that you’ll love our daughter,” Dacey gasped out

 

“I will,”

  
“Let her be who she wants to be.  Let her learn to wield a sword, or swing an axe, or shoot a bow, if she desires it.  Teach her all you can, and if you can’t find someone you can trust to do it.  Don’t force her to be someone she isn’t.  Don’t just marry her to the Lord who will bring the most money and honor to the Lannister name, marry her to someone who will live her, and who she loves.  Promise me, Jaime.  Swear it.”

 

“I…I swear it, on my life, on what little honor I have left, on everything I own, and everything I hold dear in my heart, I will.”  Jaime earnestly promised

 

Dacey weakly smiled at him, her waning energy permitting her to do nothing else.  Jaime tightened his grip on her as she rested her head against his chest and let her eyes drift shut, her chest still rising and falling as her body continued to fight the fever that had taken it.

 

Eventually, though, Dacey let out one, final, sigh of breath, and her body stilled.  Jaime just assumed that her body had slipped into an even deeper sleep, but it was only when Maester Creylen bowed his head and murmured a quiet prayer that Jaime realized that Dacey was gone.

 

“I’m sorry, Ser Jaime,” Ser Creylen apologized, “she’s gone with the Seven now.  It’s time to let her go.”

 

Jaime bit back the sob that was fighting its way up his throat, and gazed down at Dacey, her skin pale, her lips stained from the blood that she had been coughing up, her final words echoed in his head, the promises about Lyra that she’d made him swear to uphold.

 

“I love you,” Jaime whispered, “I promise you, I will love and look after our daughter, and I will train her, if she wants to be trained.  I will protect her, and make sure that she finds love, when it is time for her to marry.”

 

Slowly, Jaime lowered Dacey back onto the bed, arranging her arms so they rested over her stomach, before he eased himself off the bed and rose to his own feet.  His legs shook a little beneath him, but Jaime forced his back to be straight.  He couldn’t show his grief, his feelings, not yet.

 

“You will see to…to the arrangements?” Jaime asked, unable to prevent just the smallest quaver in his voice.  Maester Creylen bowed and nodded.

 

“Of course, Ser Jaime,”

 

Knowing that the Maester would not only look after Dacey, but also make sure Jaime’s father was informed, Jaime strode out of the room.  He walked down the corridor, his back straight, his cloak, still splattered with mud from his rushed ride back to Casterly Rock swishing behind him with each stride.

 

He turned down another corridor, and stopped when he reached the door, unable to bring himself to reach out and grasp the handle.  He looked down at his right hand…the hand he’d used to grasp the sword he’d used to kill Aerys, the hand with which he’d become the Kingslayer, and watched as it shook.  He clenched his fist, but the shaking continued.

 

Jaime felt the wall within him splinter and break, and his legs gave way beneath him, dropping him heavily to his knees as he bowed his head in grief.  Tears flowed freely down his face as he rested his head against the wooden door, his shoulders rising and falling with each shuddering breath as he felt himself falling apart, not knowing what the future would bring, what would happen now he was a widow, and his daughter without a mother, just like he had once been.

 

There, in the deserted corridor, Jaime let himself grieve for his wife, and all that could have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hides behind computer chair* Um...sorry for dropping this jsut after the last episode of Game of Thrones. Was all enthused about pasting a chapter today, and then I realized which chapter we were upto and I was like...Oops.
> 
> Sorry Guys.


	9. Tyrion II

Tyrion turned down the corridor and stopped, gazing silently at the sight before him, his brother, the man that Tyrion had grown up idolizing, the only one in the family that Tyrion was fairly sure loved him, kneeling on the ground, head bowed, sobbing. 

 

“Jaime,” Tyrion offered quietly, for once not sure of what to say.  It was not a position Tyrion was familiar with as he slowly approached his brother.

 

“She’s gone,” Jaime choked out, his voice thick with emotion.

 

“I know.  I’m sorry.  Dacey…she was a wonderful person.”

 

“I…I can’t do this, Tyrion.  I don’t know how to be a father, not without her.”

 

“Well, you’ve had a pretty good example of what not to do,” Tyrion attempted to jest.  Jaime huffed, but didn’t say anything, instead moving so he was sitting with his back against the door, his head tilted back against it.  Tyrion moved closer and sat beside his brother.

 

“You came here…that’s a good start.”

 

Jaime sighed, turning his head a little so he could look at the door he was leaning against, the door to his daughter’s nursery, before he looked at Tyrion.

 

“You lose your wife, and you first go to check on your daughter, before anything else.  You are a good father already, Jaime.”

 

“Dacey…she wanted me to look after her.  To protect her, to make sure she…she can learn to fight, if she wants, to make sure she marries someone who she loves and who loves her.”

 

“And I am sure you will.” Tyrion offered supportively, ‘If I had a child there is no-one else I would want to be their teacher in swordsmanship than you.”

 

“Father wouldn’t approve.  He never let Cersei learn.”

 

“Hang father, she’s your daughter, not his.  Do you really think that he would have let his father tell him how to raise us?  No.”

 

Within the room behind them Tyrion could hear the sound of Lyra beginning to cry.  Jaime stiffened at the sound, and Tyrion reached out, his hand, resting it on Jaime’s arm.

 

“Go to her…be her father.  She needs you, now more than ever.”

 

“What if I lose her too?”

 

“Then you will grieve, and you will miss her, but you will not live in regret, ruing the time you could have spent with her, but didn’t.”

 

Jaime nodded, before rising to his feet, albeit a little shakier than Tyrion had ever seen him before.  Tyrion followed his brother’s example, standing on his own two feet, although a little slower than Jaime.

 

Taking a deep breath, Jaime reached out, grasping the handle, before pushing it open and striding through the doorway. 

 

Tyrion followed his brother into the bright, airy room that had served as the nursery for generations of Lannister babies.  Jaime, Cersei and Tyrion had all spent their first few years in this room, as had their father, aunt and uncles, and the generations that came before them.

 

The current occupant of the room was being carried around the room by her wet nurse, being hushed and rocked gently, although the wet nurse stopped when she saw the Lannister brothers.

 

“My lords”, she bobbed a curtsey.

 

Jaime opened his mouth to say something, but words failed him, and he looked pained, so Tyrion stepped forward.

 

“My brother wished to see his child, and hold her.  Lady Dacey has passed away, and Lyra’s father needs her, just as she will need him, in the years to come.

 

“Of course, my Lords,” the wet nurses eye filled with tears at the news, but she hurried towards them and gently transferred Lyra into her father’s arms.  Jaime cradled the baby to his chest, and the Nursemaid moved away, leaving the three Lannisters to have some privacy, while the Nursemaid quietly grieved for Dacey.  Tyrion, however, paid no attention to the nurse, focused instead on Jaime and the baby cradled in her father’s arms.

 

“She’s gone, “Jaime whispered to his daughter, “your mother is gone, but I’m still here.  I love you, my little cub…I would do anything for you, I would die for you, I would live for you.  I would do anything in my power to make sure you live a long and happy life.”

 

Saying nothing more, Jaime walked across the room and sat down in the rocking chair, gently rocking it back and forward, the wood creaking softly as the chair rocked, while Jaime gazing sown at Lyra, while the baby gazed quietly back up at him

 

Satisfied that Jaime was where he needed to be, Tyrion took a few steps backwards before turning and leaving the room.  He had done what he could, now it was up to Jaime to ensure that Lyra grew up knowing the love of one of her parents.  The love of her mother had been robbed from her, just like it had been robbed from Tyrion, Jaime and even Cersei, but maybe she would have a better relationship with her father than any of them had experienced.


	10. Jaime VI

A few days had passed since Dacey had died, and Jaime had spent most of it in the nursery.  He had only occasionally left the room, and that was only when his father forced him to.  When he wasn’t with Lyra, then Tyrion or the wet nurse were, along with at least two trusted guards.

 

Lyra, in spite of her mother’s death, was beginning to flourish.  Despite not thriving in her first week of life, she was beginning to overcome that, and Maester Creylen had been far more optimistic about her surviving infancy.  Tyrion’s words about regret, however, lingered in Jaime’s head, and he resolved to spend as much time as he could with his daughter.

 

Maege Mormont was due to arrive at Casterly Rock any day now.  The weather had not been favorable, and the ship had been battling a strong head wind the entire journey south, delaying them greatly.  Tywin had decided that he would be the one to greet her at the dock herself, and tell her the news about Dacey’s passing, and Jaime was grateful that he would not have to be the one to face his wife’s mother and inform her that her daughter had passed away.

 

Jaime’s aunt, Genna, had been in the Riverlands when Lyra had been born, and she’d arrived back at the Rock the day after Dacey had died.  Jaime had seen her every day since she’d returned to the castle though.  She made a point of visiting him each day, talking with the Maester about how Lyra was going before she would rest her hand comfortingly on Jaime’s shoulder.  After his mother had died, Genna had been Jaime’s sole maternal figure growing up, and he’d taken comfort in her presence and reassurance.  Genna had often been stern with him growing up, but now she was softer … gentler.  He’d once asked her about it.

 

“You’re doing everything right,” she’d told him, smiling and smoothing your hair, “when you do the wrong thing and mess things up I will chastise you then, but now…now you are doing everything right, no matter what my brother says to the contrary.”

 

Now, though, Jaime was heading back to the nursery to see Lyra.  He’d been called away by Tywin to discuss the arrangements for Dacey’s funeral in the sept at Casterley Rock, and he hadn’t been nearly as helpful in the process that Tywin had wanted.  Tywin had sent him away gruffly, muttering that Lyra would be more useful than Jaime was being, and Jaime had to admit that his father was probably right.

 

Not bothering to knock, Jaime opened to door to the nursery, frowning when he felt the door hit something as it opened, blocking it from opening fully.  He looked down, and noticed the pool of blood staining the carpet.  Throwing his weight against the door, Jaime forced it open, almost tripping over the body of one of the guards he had left protecting his daughter.

 

The room, meant to be a place for the youngest members of the Lannister family to be kept safe, was splattered with blood.  All three of Lyra’s guards who were on duty were lying dead on the ground, as were two men who Jaime didn’t know, both of whom wearing Lannister livery.  The wet nurse too was laying on the floor, near the fire, her throat slashed open.

 

Jaime drew his sword as he set eyes on the sole other adult in the room, another stranger in Lannister livery, standing beside Lyra’s cradle, a small bottle in his hand, poised, as if he were about to pour it into the cradle…into Lyra’s mouth.

 

Lyra was crying, and Jaime stepped as close as he dared while the attacker was standing over his daughter.

 

“Kingslayer,” the assailant snarled.

 

“Get away from my daughter,” Jaime growled in warning, his sword held pointed against the stranger “who are you?”

 

“I can be whoever my employer needs me to be,”

 

“Your employer, who is that? They must be very stupid to try and do this.”

 

The man laughed, “you have no idea what is going on, under your very nose, do you, Kingslayer?” he taunted, taking a few steps away from the cradle and drawing his sword.  Jaime exhaled, relieved that the assassin had moved away from Lyra, and he hurried to put himself between the man and the cradle.  Reaching into the cradle with his left arm he checked on Lyra.  Her cries had eased, as if she knew he was there to protect her, and she gripped onto his fingers tightly.

 

_‘I have to protect her’_

 

Despite knowing that it was probably a stupid idea, Jaime picked Lyra up, cradling her in his left arm, against his chest and over his heart.  He held his sword in this right hand, and turned to his side, so that Lyra was shielded from the assassin by his body.

 

The assassin lunged forward with his sword, and Jaime blocked the blow with his sword, before he launched an attack of his own.

 

Back and forth the fight went.  At some point Jaime thought he heard the bells start to ring, sounding the alarm that there were intruders in the keep, but he remained focused on the fight.

 

The assassin was a good fighter, Jaime would concede that…but he was Jaime Lannister, the youngest ever member of the Kingsguard.  He’d been trained by Lord Sumner Crakehall, and knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne.  He’d trained with Ser Barristan Selmy, and he’d won numerous jousts and tourney melees.  He was one of the best swordsman in Westeros.

 

It did not take all that long for Jaime to disarm the assassin, even with only using his right hand.  With a clatter the assassin’s sword fell from his to the floor, and Jaime kicked it away out of reach, stepped on the assassins cloak to hold him still.

 

The assassin looked up at him, still smirking, “you have not won this fight, Kingslayer.”

 

“I beg to differ,” Jaime disagreed, holding his sword level with the man’s chest.  He wasn’t going to kill him, they needed to know who had sent the assassin after Lyra, after all, but Jaime felt his mouth go dry and his face fall as the man lifted the small bottle that he had been about to pour into Lyra’s mouth, and poured its contents down his own throat.    

 

Jaime could only watch, his sword at his side as his opponent gurgled and then went still, his eyes blank and unseeing, and obviously dead.

 

Jaime slid his sword back into his sheath and looked down at Lyra, who was looking up at him, her lip quivering as if she were about to being crying again.  He hushed her, rocking her soothingly as he cradled her to his chest, trying to reassure himself that she was alive and unharmed.

 

It was then that there was a clatter of noise, and a group of guards arrived, closely followed by Jaime’s own father.

 

Jaime said nothing, letting his father figure things out on his own.  Jaime could almost see Tywin Lannister’s infamously sharp mind working over the facts and clues present in the room.

 

“Are you alright?” Tywin eventually asked.

 

“Yes,” Jaime replied.

 

“And the baby?”

 

“I think so,”

 

“Take her to the Maester to double check, and then meet me in my solar.”

 

Jaime nodded and left the room, still carrying Lyra in his arms.  He wasn’t going to let her go, not now, not until he was certain that the keep was safe.

 

Somebody had tried to kill his infant daughter, and Jaime wasn’t going to give them another opportunity, not while he still lived.


	11. Tywin II

Sitting behind his desk in his Solar, Tywin Lannister pressed his fingertips together thoughtfully, before he looked across the room to master Creylen.  Despite the door being closed neither of them said anything for a few minutes, giving Jaime and Tyrion plenty of time to be well out of earshot before they started speaking

 

“You didn’t tell him,” the Maester observed in his quiet way

 

“There was no need.   It is insufficient evidence, it doesn’t narrow down who organized this attack.”

 

“We know they’re in King’s Landing, probably at the Red Keep.”

 

“Yes.  It also casts doubt on the Martell theory,” Tywin sighed.

 

“So what are you going to do?”

 

“Nothing.  Hopefully whoever it was will give up with Lady Dacey dead, and their assassins they sent after my granddaughter defeated.” Tywin’s voice left no room for argument, and the Maester inclined his head politely.

 

“What shall we do with the evidence?”

 

The maester pulled the parchment scroll from his robe pocket, holding it out towards Tywin, who took it from his hands.  They’d found it, of all places, stuffed into the shoe of the assassin that Jaime had fought.  The parchment was of a superior quality, highly expensive and only available in King’s Landing, in the Red Keep itself, but the handwriting was not one that Tywin recognized, not that the handwriting meant anything.  Anyone with enough wealth and power could get some literate servant, squire or other individual to write a letter, even if it was arranging the murder of two members of the Lannister family.

 

Tywin read the letter one last time, committing it to memory, before he rose to his feet and concealed the letter behind a portrait of Tywin and his three children, painted at the time of Cersei’s wedding to Robert, where it would remain hidden, it’s mere existence known only to the Maester and Tywin himself.  A thought was churning in the back of his mind, but he refused to consider it, he would not.  It was foolish, and he was Tywin Lannister.  He was not foolish, and he would not entertain foolish ideas.

 

Besides, why would a member of house Lannister want to kill the future Lady of the Rock, and Jaime’s only child?    


	12. Tyrion III

Looking east, across the rolling hills and mountains of the Western shores of Westeros, from the battlements of Casterly Rock, Tyrion Lannister let out a sigh.  Weaving through the rocks, hills and mountains was the Gold road, leading back towards King’s Landing…the path that even as he stood up on the battlements his older brother was taking.

 

Almost two months had passed since lady Dacey Lannister had died when the Raven arrived, baring a message from Kings Landing…from Cersei, to Jaime.  The note had been full of condolences about Dacey, although they had not sounded very sincere to Tyrion, and Cersei pleading with Jaime to return to the capital, promising him that the city would take his mind off his grief, and that he would be well distracted by the opportunities King’s Landing presented.

 

Less than a week later, Jaime had set off for King’s Landing, and Tyrion knew that it was unlikely that his brother would return for some time.  An opening had been discovered in the Kingsguard, with one of the existing members conveniently meeting with a sticky end, and Tyrion knew that Jaime would rejoin, even if it was only so he could stay at Cersei’s side.  Jaime and Cersei never lasted well without each other for long periods of time, and Tyrion had known that his sister was unhappy without Jaime with her in the capitol.  If he rejoined the Kingsguard then he would be there, with her, at all times.

 

Sadly, it had meant that Jaime had left Lyra behind.  Tywin had been against Lyra going to the capital, and Jaime had not seemed interested in bringing his daughter along.  Lyra would grow up on the Rock, being raised by her grandfather, and Great Aunt Genna, and would only occasionally see her father when he and the royal family came to visit the Rock, or if she was allowed to journey to the capital at some point. 

 

Tyrion remembered Jaime telling him what he’d promised Dacey as she lay dying, and Tyrion couldn’t help but wonder how much of his promise Jaime would be able to keep when he was in King’s Landing most of the time, and Lyra was in Casterly Rock.  Not as much as Dacey would have wanted, Tyrion was sure.

 

It was evidence of the amount of influence over her brother Cersei had, even now they were both grown, with children.  She only had to ask, and he went running to her side, unlikely to return in the near future.  He would miss out on watching Lyra grow up, seeing her take her first steps, speaking her first words, her learning the things that a lady of house Lannister needed to know, and probably learning a few things a lady of house Lannister didn’t need to know too. 

 

Still, it was better for Lyra to grow up at the Rock, instead of in King’s Landing.  The city would corrupt anyone, and was full of politics and backstabbing, both metaphorically and literally.  It was no place for a little girl, and at least being at the Rock meant she would be away from Cersei.

 

Cersei, who had been against Jaime getting married in the first place, and who had never asked Jaime about his daughter’s welfare after she had been born, nor had she been sincere in his condolences after Dacey’s death. Tyrion had his own suspicions about Cersei’s motives, although he would not speak them.  His father would not believe him, and Cersei was too powerful to risk confronting openly.  No…silence was the best course of action...for the moment.   

 

Maybe it would be for the best that Jaime was not able to keep the vows he’d promised to Dacey on her deathbed, Tyrion tried to think positively, maybe everything would work out well, and growing up without either of her parents being there would be beneficial for Lyra.

 

Tyrion sighed, and began to make his way off the battlements.  Lyra’s mother might be dead, and her father in King’s Landing, but at least she would have her Uncle Tyrion there for her, if she ever needed him.


End file.
